Critical Path
by Mrs S Eyre
Summary: Damir, Tatijana, their family ... Ivica.
1. Default Chapter

Context: this follows "Reconcilable Differences" and "Strings Attached", connecting RD to its epilogue. RD was written before S9 so this is now definitely AU. There is no Eric, no second Maggie arc, Carby happened but not as it did on the show, Romano still has all his limbs and no-one went to Africa.  
  
And it's first person, Abby's POV which was a bit of a challenge because I'm very much not Abby! Oh, and the language is a little, erm, adult, at times.  
  
Look out for a companion piece to this - "Once More With Feeling" by Californiagirl" - a parallel story written from Luka's POV and highly recommended!  
  
The usual disclaimers apply.  
  
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PART 1  
  
You ever do that, look back and you can see those moments when things change, or when they don't, or when you can think "Yeah, that was good"? I never used to, never had the knack of letting myself just sink into the moment, not worrying about where it came from or what came next. I can look back and see where stuff changed, where things changed shape or direction. But the good stuff I kind of missed, waiting for the next thing to jump out at me.  
  
I have a long list of "Moments That Were Never Going Anywhere Good", I could recite it in my sleep. Moments with my Mom, with Richard, with Luka, Carter, everyone really. I remember sitting in the bathroom and waiting, except not really needing to wait because I knew, and I remember saying shit out loud I don't know how many times. And when I finished doing that I picked up the 'phone but it wasn't to call Richard. Right there was the moment, not when I looked at the little plastic wand with its pink stripe, 'cause then it could still have gone the other way. But, you know, it didn't.  
  
Sometimes things literally knock at your door, and you have the choice to open the door and let them in or shut it firmly in the face of whatever stands on your doorstep. My mother that night. Actually, I was more than half way to sinking into that moment, one of those rare times when it occurred to me that things might be OK for me. Fresh out of a warm bath, Luka cooking dinner, holding me, not wanting my thanks really but accepting them, a second or two when I let myself believe ... and then the knock at the door. I wish I could say that I made a decision to kill it all right there, but hey, I'm trying to be honest here, and I didn't. I just starved it to death, let it die of neglect. Oh, come on, you're not surprised are you? I'm an addict, stuff just happens to me, right? How sad is that?  
  
It was a long time before it happened again for us. We'd eaten dinner and were doing dishes, a nice little vignette of domestic bliss. The light was on green again, and there was me, feeling kinda proud of myself because I'd owned up and it seemed to have worked. It was one of those half dozen "Hey, I'm happy" moments in my life. There have been more since and they're starting to overtake the memories of the moments when I made the crappiest decisions in my life - call the clinic, not Richard; talk to Carter, not Luka; take the beer, take another beer; take Carter; more beer and crash Luka's place. What the hell. You know, you want to be happy and you fight and strain for it but it's not a constant state, is it? It's episodic, and the trick is to recognise it when it's there. I'd not been there enough to recognise the landscape I don't think. Not like being miserable. But there - misery, people don't expect to be miserable all the time, do they, only they don't fall down dead if they're unhappy occasionally. Not normal people. Happiness is the same - you have to be on the look out for it.  
  
Clever, huh? Well, yes, but not original. Luka's father said it to me as we sat on the stoop smoking after pizza. I just knew he'd be an extra anchovies guy. He'd said a lot to me that day. There, see - I remembered another one. I stood up to him and I forgave Luka. Just like that, let it go. I let it go instead of rolling it up and shoving it into my already over stuffed emotional backpack to haul around with me. Check me out.  
  
It was about a month later, in the dark, that I made one of those decisions that ought to have fanfares and fireworks but didn't. Two security alarms were going off and there was a noisy fight going on in the apartment upstairs. He hated this stuff, I know he did, and he was real tense when he finally stopped sighing about it and spoke up.  
  
"Should have stayed at my place."  
  
"Next time."  
  
"It's a nuisance, having two apartments. We should think about sharing." I didn't answer and he went on "I mean, we'll have to decide on one place when we're married." I still didn't say anything and this time he didn't break the silence, waiting. I found my voice eventually.  
  
"Somewhere with a garden."  
  
"You want a garden?"  
  
"Well . . . we'll need somewhere for the kids to play, won't we?"  
  
He got up then, pulled on some clothes and left the room and I waited but he didn't come back so I followed him. He was sitting at the table and he'd taken one of my cigarettes, and I sat opposite and watched as he smoked it right down.  
  
There are some things in your life that are always in the present tense, and almost everything between now and then seems like that for me. I was real confused by that at first but then I figured it out. I was there, see? I mean, really there, not missing from my own life, however much it might stink, I was right there. Ivica would be proud of me. Hell, I was proud of me - and that was pretty much a first.  
  
So anyway, I'm starting to feel a bit panicked, sitting here in the dark, and I'm cold, and still he doesn't say anything. Instead he reaches for the pack of cigarettes but I get there first and pull them out of his reach.  
  
"Luka." Nothing. "It doesn't matter, I mean, if it's not what you want, I just always thought . . . " I'm rambling and I pull myself up short because I can hear how stupid I sound. How could this be something I just "always thought"? And shit this isn't what I expected. I'm not sure what I expected - him to gaze at me through a haze of unshed tears before finally releasing them in a torrent of love and gratitude?  
  
Hell, yes.  
  
"I'm sorry." he says. "I didn't . . . I wasn't . . ." Spit it out Luka  
" . . . I didn't see this coming."  
  
"You should blame your father."  
  
"What?"  
  
"He kinda laid into me . . . about being afraid, about just going for it, taking a risk if it's something you want . . . badly enough" I finish lamely.  
  
"If it's what who wants?" and I can hear the scepticism in his voice now.  
  
"Me. Me. But - " I don't finish because he gets up and makes for the bedroom. See a pattern developing here? My legs don't feel so good but after a minute I follow and find him sitting on the end of the bed, tying his shoe laces, and he's put on a sweater.  
  
"I'm going out."  
  
"It's after one."  
  
"I need to walk."  
  
And walk he does, right past me, grabbing his coat, out the door. I know that whatever else I can do I can't follow him.  
  
An hour later I hear him come in but I don't open my eyes, I don't want to see his face. He sits cautiously on the edge of the bed and I can feel the cold coming off of him in waves, and then he's running an icy finger along my eyelashes. I can't not look at him now. The only light in the room is from the street lamp outside and I can't make out his expression.  
  
"Hey." His voice is very soft.  
  
"Hey."  
  
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have - "  
  
"It's OK. I understand."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"It's all right. I should have talked to you properly, I just assumed . . . I never expected to want . . . but no, this is enough for me, us I mean, I probably shouldn't even - "  
  
"How many?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Children; how many?" Jesus, this is changing direction so fast I may throw up.  
  
"Well, you know, I thought maybe we could start with one and see how that goes." He nods slowly and I know he's not looking at me. And then I know he is and that he's smiling a little.  
  
"So - you want to make a start?" 


	2. Part 2

Part 2  
  
So we make a start. We make lots of starts, because every month there's a reminder that although we may have started we aren't passing the finishing post. He isn't concerned but I've seen him look at me, anxious when I check the calendar and the test in the bathroom cabinet remains unopened.  
  
Still, we've found a house and he's working on keeping me focused on that and does the usual man thing of deferring to me on all matters of décor, except for the business with the lampshades in the bedroom where he just says no, and he makes plans for the garden which isn't big but it's big enough and hey, it's nearly spring. On the day we move in he helps me make up the bed with new sheets and he stands back and gathers up the wrapping from the new linen and throws it onto the landing, shutting the door on the mess.  
  
"So - you want to christen them?" When I don't answer he says "Abby?"  
  
"It's not - I mean, next week, we should - "  
  
"We should what? Are we fucking to a schedule now?"  
  
"Are we what?" I'm pissed because when we first decided to go for this I was all over him like a rash at every opportunity until he started to get evasive and then told me that having him ejaculate on average 6 times a day might actually be counter productive which I knew, thank you very much, although I could have lived without him saying he was starting to feel like a stud bull. I'm stunned too because Luka doesn't talk like that, at least not to me, so gee look, I guess Abby got it wrong again.  
  
"You heard me."  
  
"Look, you know the best chances of - "  
  
"I know all about making babies, but the rest of the time we're making love, aren't we? Or does that not matter any more?" I say nothing and he sighs and sits down, not looking at me. "Why are we doing this?"  
  
"Fighting?"  
  
"No."  
  
"You mean - I - you mean - "  
  
"Starting a baby is what I mean."  
  
I'm trying so hard not to actually dislike him right now because, Jesus, I knew we'd have to figure this one out but I was hoping it would come later, when it was too late to turn back, and I also know that he never sat down with Danijela and asked that question. But me, I'm the addict, see, I'm the one who didn't want kids and now I have to explain myself.  
  
"Because it's what we both want."  
  
"Why? What changed?"  
  
"Everything! Everything changed. I'm sober, I'm . . . I'm . . . I like my life, Luka, I like myself, I think I'm worth sharing now, I'm - "  
  
"You're desperate! And you're scaring me!"  
  
"No."  
  
"You are."  
  
I know what he's thinking. "I know what you're thinking."  
  
"Sure you do."  
  
"Yeah, sure I do, asshole. Abby the addict, grab, grab, grab. Jesus, Luka, my whole life is one long frigging balancing act, you know? Live in the moment but learn to defer gratification, learn from my past but put it behind me, see things - "  
  
"Abby."  
  
" - from the outside and - "  
  
"Abby, stop. I'm sorry."  
  
"I'm not desperate, Luka, I'm impatient. You do understand the difference, do you? I'm impatient because I've wasted too much of my life already, I'm impatient because I never thought I'd want this and I do. Want, Luka, want. Not need, not crave, want. I'm allowed to want, aren't I? And I'm worried. I've spent years making sure that nothing short of the Holy Ghost could get me pregnant and now it's like a fucking bad joke! Nothing."  
  
"Three months, Abby. It's no time at all."  
  
"How long before Danijela conceived?" I can't believe I just said that.  
  
"What?" He can't believe it either. For a second there I think he's going to laugh.  
  
"How long?"  
  
"Jesus, Abby, about 10 minutes I guess - is that what you want to hear?"  
  
"So why not me?"  
  
"It's too soon to talk like this, you know that."  
  
"God, I did it before without even wanting to."  
  
"And it will happen again."  
  
"What if it doesn't?" I'm trying not to cry and he finally comes to me and holds me.  
  
"It will."  
  
"What if it doesn't?"  
  
"I don't care." I'm out of his arms like a shot now. "I mean I do care. I want this too, I do want it, even if I thought I'd got past wanting it, but God, Abby, not if it means losing us."  
  
And that's it, right there. He can tell me he loves me every half hour for the rest of our lives but this, this is what he's about. He wants me and he wants me more than he wants what I thought he had before, and I know then that even if there's no baby I'll live, because there'll be us.  
  
Oh, and we christen those sheets.  
  
It's all in the mind. Right. Except, right. I don't know, I guess it was like flicking a switch, and three weeks later, while I was trying real hard not to look at the calendar he handed me the test and nodded toward the bathroom. Five minutes after that I'm sitting on the edge of the bath trying not to hyperventilate and saying "shit" over and over again, except this time I'm grinning like an idiot.  
  
"Congratulations," I say, aiming for cool and hitting Kid On Christmas Morning, "you're going to be a father." I don't add "again" although it's there, between us. He shrugs, affecting nonchalance.  
  
"I told you so" and then he's got hold of me and I'm not sure whether he's laughing or crying. I think he's laughing, and that's OK because I'm crying. After a moment we look at each other.  
  
"I'm scared." I say.  
  
"Me too."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I'll get over it."  
  
"Me too?"  
  
"You too. Of course," he continues, "I'll do the honourable thing."  
  
"Oh, you will?"  
  
"Sure - make an honest woman of you."  
  
"Well, that's very kind of you."  
  
"I know," he sighs "can't escape my upbringing."  
  
"And I'm grateful of course."  
  
"When?"  
  
"Soon. No fuss, no announcements, just us, you know."  
  
"Just us," and he laughs softly and we make the most of our pre-marital status upstairs.  
  
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	3. PArt 3

I have no idea how to spell Abby's maiden name and I can't be bothered to look it up. So there.  
  
Anyway - a Luby wedding; hearts and flowers, big dress, white doves, red carpet, single tear. Yeah, right.  
  
Part 3  
  
For a while there it looks like Kerry might screw the whole thing up when she turns down Luka's request for leave in the same 2 weeks I've already booked. She's gone into bureau-speak now.  
  
"I appreciate that you want to vacation together Luka, but logistically it isn't always possible to accommodate personal preferences and, since Susan will be away then, your own preferences will have to be subordinate to the requirements of the rosta so - "  
  
"It's not a vacation." he says tersely. I know that tone of voice and I know that if Kerry wants a fight she'll get one.  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"It's a honeymoon." Kerry blinks a couple of times and looks over to where I'm hovering by the door. I give her a tight little smile by way of confirmation and she nearly smiles back before nodding at him and telling him she'll see what she can do. She'd better.  
  
We buy a ring for him but I don't need one because the night I took the test he slid Rosa's from his finger and onto mine and it fitted, so I just nodded and that was that. And a couple of weeks later, with Carter and Chen as witnesses we sign on the dotted line. I've bought a little dress but I don't wear it because when I put it on I don't recognise myself. Luka shrugs and says I can wear a wet suit and snow shoes if I want and anyway it would give his dad a laugh when he sees the photographs. My hands shake when I sign my name as they did when I struggled to get the ring onto his finger, although his hands are steady on both counts. I don't know why mine shook; I've never been so sure of anything in my whole life as I am doing this and I remember the last time I had to scrub mascara from under my eyes and manage to confine myself to just a few tears. His hands might be steady but he cries a little too and rolls his eyes at his own sentimentality. Carter takes some photographs at City Hall and later at the obscenely expensive restaurant where the four of us eat lunch paid for by Carter who says it's a wedding present although Jing-Mei doesn't think it counts as they get to eat it too. I make up my mind that Luka will have champagne that night even if I can't. If ever a man deserved champagne it's him today.  
  
Carter takes me aside as we leave and looks at me sort of sad and happy all at the same time, then he rolls his eyes too and hugs me harder than he ever did when we were together. And then we go to work, me clinging to Luka's arm so that he can hardly walk, no, don't laugh at me, I do, and he looks down at me and smiles.  
  
It's while Luka is examining the woman who has stuck a 6" kitchen knife through her palm - and it's still through her palm - and a split second after he's told me to get a surgical consult down here that Susan reaches across the sedated patient and grabs Luka's newly un-gloved hand.  
  
"Is that a wedding ring?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You got married?" He doesn't bother to answer that one. She looks at me and I hold up my own left hand before she can ask who the bride is.  
  
"Wow. Isn't this a little sudden?"  
  
"It was marry her or be deported" he murmurs.  
  
"Actually I only did it for the sake of my unborn child." He's shocked, wide eyed, because we agreed not to tell anyone yet but come on, this is the biggest thing I ever did and besides I'm having fun here.  
  
"You're kidding."  
  
I pick up the patient's coat and purse from the floor where they've been dropped and, leaning in real close I say to Susan "Yeah, I'm kidding. The truth is I married him for his money." I go to make the call but go back to her and whisper in her ear. "And the sex." She doesn't know what to believe. As I pick up the 'phone I hear him say to her  
  
"I think you can close your mouth now Susan."  
  
Kerry drops by to say congratulations and to ask if I've informed HR of a change of name. I hadn't even thought about that. I've been married 4 hours and I don't know what my name is. I hunt down one of the options and he's non committal and says not to change anything on his account.  
  
"You don't want me to be Abby Kovac?"  
  
"Not particularly. You want me to be Luka Lockhart?" and he's laughing because it sounds like something out of very bad Disney feature.  
  
"God, no, it's terrible," I giggle. No, I do, I giggle.  
  
"It's a hassle, changing your name - driver's licence, bank, credit cards, HR. You could always take back your maiden name - I mean if you don't want to be Lockhart now you're married to someone else."  
  
Married to someone else; I'm married to someone else, and look who it turns out to be.  
  
"Just as much hassle."  
  
"More logical though."  
  
"I kinda like the sound of Mrs Kovac."  
  
He sighs. "Makes me think of my mother."  
  
His mother; not Danijela.  
  
"Well, hey, I get to be your mother sometimes, don't I?" He's clearly not convinced.  
  
"So - Wyczinski then? You think?"  
  
"Like I said - up to you. Whatever you feel right with." I'm vaguely disappointed but I don't let him see it.  
  
A few minutes later I've sent up written notification to HR and sent a circular around the ER. Jerry is the first to ask me why.  
  
"I got married."  
  
"To . . . " He's turning this over in his head, trying to figure out what happened to me and Luka.  
  
"To Dr Kovac."  
  
"Then . . . "  
  
"My maiden name."  
  
"That's your maiden name? And you chose it over Lockhart or Kovac? Weird."  
  
He's right. I haven't been Abby Wyczinski since I was 20 years old. I feel like I just got 15 years of my life back.  
  
As the clock inches toward midnight and the end of our shifts I take up position by the board; there's no way he's taking on anything else tonight, and if I have to I'll drag him away from whatever case is keeping him. We have a marriage to consummate. 


	4. Part 4

Part 4  
  
There's a bit of smut in this. A tiny bit of implicit hanky panky. Nothing graphic (I can't do graphic) and really hardly anything at all. No, really.  
  
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It's dark when we get to Split and I fall asleep in the hire car we picked up at the airport so I have no idea what time we reach Vodice. Luka hauls me out of the car and carries me into the house, lying me down and shushing me, telling me not to wake myself up. I fall asleep thinking it's strange to hear the sea in the dark and not see it and that it won't be for him but having me here will.  
  
You know how sometimes when you wake up you know you're alone? I mean, not just no-one in bed with you but no-one in the house? I knew it as soon as I opened my eyes. My shoes and jeans have been removed but my shirt and underwear are still in place, and I'm still wearing my watch. I squint at it and see that it's almost noon. What time is it in Chicago? The effort to work it out is short lived and unsuccessful. Who cares? I'm on my honeymoon.  
  
The room is simple, whitewashed, although there are a couple of Ivica's paintings on the wall. And one above the bed; it's an abstract like the others but still manages to look vaguely indecent. A slatted shutter covers the window, diffusing the sunlight. The tiled floor is cool under my feet as I open the shutter to look for the sea. It's not there; wrong side of the house, evidently, and all I see is the car, a track which I assume leads to the road and beyond that hills and greenery and the bluest sky I've ever seen in my life. Looks like we're a way out of town here. But when I make my way through the kitchen, where the door stands open, and out onto a veranda, there's the sea and it dazzles my eyes. It's beautiful.  
  
He's sitting in the shade, wearing only his jeans, barefoot, reading a newspaper and drinking coffee. He sets it down as far from him as he can reach because the smell makes me queasy.  
  
"Hey."  
  
"Hey yourself."  
  
"Sleep well?"  
  
"Like a baby. You been up long?"  
  
"Couple of hours. Went to get a newspaper, then for a swim. You hungry?"  
  
"Uh-huh" I say as I settle myself on his lap.  
  
"My father left us some - " He stops there because he can't talk while I'm kissing him. His mouth is cool and tastes of coffee and I don't care; God knows what mine must taste like. "Abby," he says as my mouth moves across his throat, which is a little salty from the sea.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You should eat something." But he's saying it without much conviction because I've slid from his lap and onto my knees, between his, and my hands are busy unfastening his jeans. I give him my wickedest grin.  
  
"I intend to."  
  
Evidently missing the point that we're newly weds and that there's nothing around for miles in any direction he protests sotto voce that this is his father's house; and can it be that he's even blushing a little? "I know, " I say, still smiling. "he'd be proud of us." There's not much talking for a while after that.  
  
At week's end we pack some stuff and drive along the coast to Dubrovnik where Ivica is staying with Damir and Tatijana in their new house and where we'll spend the weekend. I'm in a state of low level anxiety and excitement all in one. They don't know we're married, they don't know about the baby because he wanted to be there when they found out. It's starting to dawn on me how little I've known this man at my side, he's a different person here. He's at home, happy, relaxed, and I remember what Ivica said about the place being softer. He's right, it is. There's a spring in his step when we stop to fill up the car with gas and he chats to the attendant who has drifted outside to pass the time of day, wipe the windshield and, I gather, offer the use of the rest room. Luka translates for me and I get out of the car, following gas guy's pointing finger. He says something as I pass and Luka shakes his head and replies. Gas guy, although I don't understand a word of what he says, is obviously back peddling like crazy.  
  
As we drive away I ask him.  
  
"He said you were . . . that I have a pretty girlfriend."  
  
"Liar."  
  
"Well . . . sort of. I told him you're not my girlfriend but my wife." He smiles at me and I can tell that he's still getting used to the word. After a few moments he shakes his head and laughs softly, looking out over the scenery, and I know as surely as if he'd told me himself in so many words that everything he wants is right there with him in that car on the coast road to Dubrovnik.  
  
It's a pretty house but they're still living out of boxes and I'm glad because with all the chaos no-one's going to be taking too much notice of anything else, like me. Yeah, right.  
  
The noise is painful as they converge on us, Tatijana first, then Damir, the children, Magdalena's greeting brusque before she heads outside, Josip clinging to Luka's legs, Anna blushing to the roots of her hair; I take care to smile into her eyes because she's in love with my husband. Ivica is last and after he's hugged me I hand over the carton of American cigarettes we've brought for him, push my hair back from my face with my left hand and smile.  
  
"Tata". He grins, completely missing the point, but when Anna speaks to him quietly he looks from me to her and back again before reaching for my hand. He runs his index finger over the ring and nods and then walks away. I'd like to think he's gone to find a quiet spot to shed a few paternal tears; truth is he's probably lighting up and thinking of something profound to say. He doesn't know the half of it. Anna has moved over to where her mother is speaking to Luka, whispers something in her ear and Tatijana throws her arms around Luka who is compelled to let go of Josip who he has had suspended by his ankles over Damir's lap in an apparent quest for loose change. I don't know why they need loose change. Tatijana turns her attention to me, asking when and where, and God, Ivica will be pissed at being cheated out of a party and isn't it a bit sudden? I look at Luka who just looks right back and I realise that it's me who gets to tell them. So I smile and say "Shotgun wedding". They stare blankly back at me and I try again. "I'm pregnant."  
  
The silence which follows this announcement is absolute. Eventually Damir speaks to Luka in Croatian, evidently asking a question and Luka nods.  
  
"Da."  
  
Damir tips Josip off his lap and comes to me, gathering me up into his arms. These Kovac men could hug for Croatia.  
  
"Go and tell Tata."  
  
I look at Luka who nods, smiling now, before he too disappears into Damir's embrace and Josip stands on the armchair and jumps up and down on it in an attempt to join in the ruffling of his uncle's hair. Anna smiles quietly and holds the door open for me.  
  
Ivica is sitting on the back step, the inevitable cigarette between his fingers, watching Magdalena practising her handstands. She's not very good. He makes room for me and smiles.  
  
"Too much for you, all of them?"  
  
"Not at all." He offers me the pack of cigarettes and when I shake my head he raises his eyebrows.  
  
"You quit?"  
  
"Well, you know, it's not something you should do when you're pregnant." His amused smile fades and he turns from me, staring hard at I don't know what.  
  
"You planned this?"  
  
"We planned it." He nods slowly.  
  
"Well, there's my brave girl."  
  
"Aren't I?"  
  
He drapes an arm round me and pulls me in close. "You feel OK?"  
  
"I feel great. Not even been sick."  
  
"Not what I mean."  
  
"I know." I'm quiet for a while, considering my words. "It feels like . . . jumping without a parachute."  
  
Ivica shrugs. "Eh, fall's OK, it's hitting ground will kill you."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Worst part is making yourself jump at all I think."  
  
"Not so hard in the end. We deserve this." He rests his chin on the top of my head, his hand describing wide circles on my back.  
  
"I have to teach Josip to smoke now. I need the company."  
  
"You could quit." He gives a derisive little snort. "Guess not." We sit quietly for a few minutes and then he says, as though just remembering it,  
  
"You like Vodice?"  
  
"The town or your house?"  
  
"Both."  
  
"I love the house. The town's not what I was expecting."  
  
"No?"  
  
"Bigger, busier. I didn't expect the tourists. Nice to get back to your place."  
  
"Yes. Good place for me. It's . . . secluded, yes?" I'm not looking at him but I can hear the smile in his voice, the old roué. "You will bring baby to visit?"  
  
"I'm kinda relying on all of you for cheap European holidays. Promise you won't teach him to smoke."  
  
"Him?"  
  
"Or her, whatever."  
  
"I promise. And you won't teach him to drink." I push out of his arms now, horrified, but then I realise I walked straight into it; he's laughing, looking very like Luka and then he puts his hands either side of my face and kisses me soundly before getting up and going to Magdalena, catching her ankles at the top of the handstand, holding her poised. I know how she feels.  
  
We eat out that night, sitting outside the restaurant while Magdalena and Josip run in and out of the tables collecting the books of matches they find there and presenting them like trophies to their grandfather who promptly pockets them and has Josip - and me - transfixed as he cracks hazelnuts with his teeth. When the night gets cool Damir puts his coat round my shoulders, looking at Luka and raising a cocky eyebrow at him. Later the conversation gets a little heated as the clan Kovac fill up with wine and Ivica hits the local brandy, scented with herbs and hellish expensive. I chip in to make a point and Damir talks right over me determined to get in there first. I should be offended but I'm not because this is how they treat each other. Luka doesn't miss it and stirs his coffee, smiling to himself. Just as I'm thinking that I might actually like to be a Kovac after all he looks up at me, still smiling, and with a shrug he whispers "In laws." 


End file.
